Bad Day, Good Night
by Ciara2531
Summary: Because even though they're not partners anymore, he's still the one she wants to see at the end of a bad day (the good ones too).


**A/N: This is my first foray into the Chicago PD fandom although I've been watching the show from the beginning. As usual with first attempts, I'm not entirely satisfied with it; not sure I really got into the right characterization for these two as individuals or as a couple. But gotta start somewhere, right?**

**Feedback (good or bad so long as it stays polite) is always welcome. Enjoy.**

* * *

She could have gone home.

It was 3:30 in the morning.

Home would have been a sensible choice.

She could have gone to Voight's.

It had been a while but it wouldn't have been the first time she'd gone to him when a case got under her skin and into her head. He would have understood.

She could have stayed in New York and come home with all her new task force partners the next day; they'd all been through the same ordeal and she knew that sometimes, you just needed to be around the people who'd experienced the same horror as you.

But she'd still decided to take the red eye and she wasn't going home and she wasn't going to see Voight.

She parked across the street and gave the doorman a tired smile before opting for the stairs instead of the elevator.

She hesitated in front of his doorway for a moment before she knocked. She heard footsteps approach quickly so she knew she wasn't waking him.

"Hey," she said, when the door swung open.

"Hey," he said.

She could tell he was surprised to see her - it had been five months already after all - but she also saw the minute he recognized the look in her eyes for what it was.

"How many?" he asked quietly as he pulled the door open wider for her to come in.

"Three," she replied. "All teenagers."

She shook her head and swallowed hard as she crossed the threshold.

"Sometimes you think you've seen it all," she said. "And then days like today happen…"

"I'm sorry," he said, kicking the door shut and walking into the kitchen.

He pulled open the refrigerator and pulled out two beers while she settled herself on the couch, knees tucked up underneath her.

She titled her head to one side as he handed her a can and sat down.

"Is this okay?" she asked him. "That I came here?"

There were a lot of ways that he could have answered the question, Halstead thought, but now wasn't the time to talk about the fact that he missed her _every single day_ or that he'd imagined more than once a case or some other random circumstance bringing them into each other's lives again, just for a moment.

"Just because we're not partners anymore," he said, "doesn't mean I'm not still here for you."

He reached over to wipe away a smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye.

"You can always come to me," he said.

Lindsay gave him a small smile, more relieved than she had a right to be considering it had been her decision to leave and her choice to keep contact between them to the occasional text. But tonight wasn't the first time that she'd been tempted to turn up on his doorstep. Even on the good days, she found herself wanting to hear his voice or see that glint of satisfaction in his eyes that came from putting the bad guys away.

"Thanks for that," she said softly, sincerely.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked.

"Not much to tell," Lindsay said. "We got there, just not in time to save them."

She took a sip of her beer.

"You're supposed to focus on the ones you save, you know?" Lindsay said. "Give you peace of mind, let you think you're still making a difference."

"You are," Halstead said.

"I know," Lindsay agreed. "But it doesn't make the losses any easier to take."

"And it shouldn't," Halstead said. "The ones you lose are what push you to always try harder the next time."

"What, you getting smart on me?" Lindsay asked.

He gave her a small smile.

"How are you?" he asked. "I don't mean tonight just…"

"I'm good," Lindsay said. "It's different and I miss you guys but it's good. I'm good."

"Voight, he brought Burgess upstairs," Halstead said.

Lindsay nodded.

"She's earned it," she said.

"He was crazy hard on her the first few weeks," Halstead said. "I think he had a hard time accepting that no matter what she did, she wasn't going to be you."

"What about you?" Lindsay asked.

"I knew better than to think you could be replaced," he said wryly.

Lindsay leaned forward to put the half empty beer can on the coffee table.

"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice," she said, relaxing back in to the sofa.

"We have bad days too," Halstead reminded her.

"I know," Lindsay said. "But doesn't it say something that after a bad day on the new job, I end up at my old partner's house at 3:30 in the morning?"

"You didn't come here because of the job," Halstead said. "Or because we used to be partners."

Their eyes locked and Lindsay could tell that he was waiting to see if she was going to walk through the emotional door he'd just opened or if she was going to back off, not for the first time.

"You're right," Lindsay said.

When it didn't appear that she planned to add anything else, Halstead spoke again.

"You know," he said. "It took me a minute – last five months actually – to realize that us working together wasn't the only thing in the way."

Lindsay licked her lips, which were suddenly much too dry.

"You scare me," she finally admitted. "What this could be scares me."

"Why?" Halstead asked.

"Because I trust you with my life," Lindsay said. "And I know I could tell you everything and you'd _listen_ and you'd get it."

She shrugged.

"I didn't have to come here tonight," she said. "But I wanted to. I always want to. I'm just…scared of losing what's already here, you know? I don't think I could handle that."

Halstead took a minute to process everything that she'd said and he understood. There'd been too few people in Erin Lindsay's life that she could truly trust enough to get close to.

"I don't want to lose what's here either," Halstead said after a moment. "But I also don't want to give up on the rest, not without giving it a chance."

He reached for her again, his palm curving against her cheek.

"If you can trust me with your life," he murmured. "Trusting me with your heart shouldn't be that hard."

"It shouldn't be," Lindsay agreed, looking down.

Knowing that it would be useless to push and that she hadn't really come here to have this conversation anyway, Halstead opted to change the subject.

"Why don't we call it a night," he said, letting his hand fall away from her face.

Lindsay captured it between both of hers and held on.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"You want to crash here?" Halstead asked.

"You don't mind?" Lindsay asked.

"I don't mind," Halstead said.

Wordlessly, they both got to their feet and Halstead led the way into his bedroom. It could have been awkward but it wasn't. They got into the bed from opposite sides; Halstead settled on his back, Erin on her side facing him.

He could feel her watching him but he knew that if he turned to look at her now, all bets would be off. So he closed his eyes and willed his breath to stay steady. He'd just started to drift off when he felt her hand slide into his, her fingertips brushing against his palm.

"G'night Jay," she whispered.

He did let himself look at her then. Her eyes were closed, lashes fanning over her cheeks. He could admit, to himself if not to anyone else, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. And god, he wanted every part of her.

Maybe "one day" would still come around. Until then, there was this, her asleep next to him, seeking sanctuary that he was glad to give.

He ghosted his lips over her forehead.

"G'night, Erin."


End file.
